


Hypothermia

by northwesterndownpour



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 20:23:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northwesterndownpour/pseuds/northwesterndownpour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Mycroft pushes Sherlock into a river, he gets dangerously cold and John takes care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hypothermia

                “ _Ok, see you tonight_ ” John Watson was texting his new girlfriend. Her name was Meg this time, and they were about to go on their second date. _It always feels so fake,_ he thought to himself. _Every time it's another girl, and after maybe a week, or two if I'm lucky, I’ll get dumped. That’s what always happens._ Maybe she would finally be the one. Probably not, but he could always hope. And if not, maybe the girl after that, or the next one after that… He was never sure exactly what he was doing that made every one of them leave; it seemed to be different each time. They always joked that he was a better boyfriend to Sherlock than to them, but that wasn’t usually what made them walk out in the end. John had decided that he must be either a boring person, or unpleasant to be around for some other reason. He rubbed his arms against the winter chill; their heater had been malfunctioning lately, and the heater mechanic wasn’t scheduled to come until two days from now. He stared out the window as the snow fell softly outside. Meg hadn’t responded to his text yet. Was their relationship ending already? It had just barely started… Sighing, he set down his phone, got up from the couch, and went to find Sherlock. He had just begun to walk downstairs when he heard the front door slam shut. Mrs. Hudson gasped,

                “Oh! Sherlock, what have you gotten yourself into this time? Are you all right?”

                “Nothing, it’s nothing, someone pushed me into the river, that’s all,” was his reply.

                “But Sherlock, you’ll ruin the carpet!” she called after him. “I’m putting this on your rent bill!” John went the rest of the way down the stairs to see what had happened, but he didn’t so much see Sherlock as feel him as he rushed past him up the stairs. He was soaking wet and covered in mud. He must have actually fallen in the river, John thought, as he followed him back to the upper flat to get a new shirt, the one he was wearing was all wet just from brushing past Sherlock. As soon as he opened the door, he saw his flatmate struggling to pull off his drenched coat.

                “Do you need some help there, Sherlock?” John asked him.

                “No, I’m fine; it’s just awfully hard to get these trenchcoats off when they’re all soaked like this. I’ve already come up with a much better design for fibers that would shed water using a new plastic prototype that looks and feels like wool. I should put it into effect immediately. Sorry about your shirt. I fell into the river, you know, John.” John felt as if only the very first and last parts of the speech were actually directed at him, but he didn’t care. Sherlock was always like that. By now, he had gotten the coat off, as well as his jacket underneath. John realized he was going to remove the rest of his clothes too, so he left the room for his own bedroom. After putting on a dry shirt, he checked his phone hopefully. He saw that he had received a new message, but his heart sank as he read it.

                _“So sorry, John. I didn’t realize I had something else planned tonight. Will next weekend work for you instead?”_ He texted back,

                _“It’s ok. Next weekend is fine with me.”_ Although he felt the opposite of okay. Letting out the second long sigh of the day, he walked back into their main room. Sherlock was slumped on the sofa, presumably wearing only his white sheet. His hair was still wet and he was noticeably shivering. As he got closer, john noticed that his lips and fingernails were tinged blue.

                “Are you all right?” John asked.

                “Yes.”

                “Are you sure?”

                “Yes.”

                “Okay then,” John sat down next to him and turned on the TV. Sherlock’s arm touched John’s and he jumped.

                “Your arm is _cold_ ,” John told him.

                “So is the rest of me,” Sherlock said. “I’m going to bed to warm up, there’s a heater in my room.”

                “All the heaters are broken. I would think you’d have noticed that with your amazing deduction skills,” said John.

                “Ah. Well I don’t exactly feel like I’m in the best condition for deducing things at the moment.” John was extremely surprised. Sherlock would never admit that he was any less perfect than normal. Maybe it was the cold getting to him. He had seen many soldiers get hypothermia, and realized that Sherlock was showing almost all of the symptoms. “I’ll just go to bed anyway. I’m so tired…” Sherlock stood up and slowly walked into his bedroom. A few seconds later John heard a sound as if he had fallen first to his knees, then the rest of him. He rushed into the bedroom and saw that he had been exactly right. Beside the bed, Sherlock lay on the ground, unconscious. John pulled him up—he was surprisingly light—and put him on his bed. Now his entire skin had taken on a faint bluish tint... definitely hypothermia. He didn’t look good. John went downstairs to ask Mrs. Hudson about taking him to the hospital. John was a doctor, but there was only so much he could do with their household supplies. He really only needed a heater anyway.

                “Mrs. Hudson, I’m worried about Sherlock. He’s showing signs of hypothermia, and also he passed out. From the cold. He might need to go to the hospital, but would they let him in? With all the legal problems he’s gotten into lately?

                “Oh, that poor boy! I’ll take a look at him. And yes, you would most likely be arrested if you went to a hospital,” They returned to Sherlock’s room together.

                “This is bad, this is very bad…” Muttered John as Mrs Hudson inspected him. “It would have been fine if he had stayed awake. But once he passed out his body temperature just got colder and colder. He’ll seem fine for a while, but if he can't get warm soon we’ll have to take him to the hospital."

                "And you _don’t_ want that to happen, you’ll both be arrested. I’ll go make some hot tea for him.” She hurried away, leaving them alone.

                “Sherlock!” John said loudly next to his ear. His eyes opened, but he didn’t move to sit up.

                “John… It’s _so cold_ …” Sherlock was having trouble speaking.

                “You have to stay awake. Mrs. Hudson is making you some tea.”

                “No, John, that will barely help. I’m _frozen_. You need to help me.” His words were extremely slurred, and John got the feeling that he barely knew what he was saying.

                “Um… what do you mean?” John was getting worried.

                “Can you help me get warm? Come up here,” He said to John.

                “I don’t think that’s such a good ide—” He was cut off as Sherlock, whose strength was considerably more than John had expected for his weight, dragged him onto the bed, lying next to him.  “What are you doing!?” John cried out, alarmed. “I thought you didn’t like men!” Sherlock didn’t reply. Okay, John thought, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s completely delirious. John’s hand was gripped by what felt like a hand shaped block of ice. Suddenly, the thought came to John that Sherlock never wore anything underneath his white sheet. This made him even more uncomfortable, but at least the sheet appeared to be tightly wrapped around Sherlock and tied at the shoulder, so that it probably wouldn’t fall off. Somehow, he had managed to drag John underneath the covers of the bed. The bed was extremely cold, making John realize that maybe what Sherlock had done was necessary, trapping his body heat in an attempt to stay warm.

                “How did you even manage to fall into the river in the first place?” asked John.

                “Someone pushed me.” Sherlock was finally able to form a comprehensible sentence.

                “Who?”

                “Mycroft.”

                “Why would Mycroft want to push you into a river? I mean I know he’s kind of your enemy at the moment, but doesn’t he usually use more subtle ways to anger you?” said John.

                “Well Mycroft didn’t physically push me, one of his men did. But apparently it was an order from him.”

                “Sounds like sibling rivalry has gone a little far,”

                “Well, there’s nothing to be done about it at the moment. Probably what happened was, in a fit of anger, he yelled that he wanted to push me off a bridge, and someone took it a bit too literally.” His voice was still shaking from cold. Mrs. Hudson had just arrived with the tea, and as she entered the room she stopped in surprise.                      

                “Oh you silly boys, what _are_ you doing?” She asked when she saw them.

                “Nothing—He was just cold.” John answered immediately.

                "All right then. Here's your tea, dear," she said, offering it to Sherlock. 

                "I don't need any tea, thank you, Mrs Hudson." he said. 

                "Well, if you're sure..." she set the tea on the bedside table and left the room. 

                “John… I don’t really understand. I’m a high-functioning sociopath. I’m not supposed to have emotions like this. I never did, until now.”

                “What? What emotions are they?” John was surprised at this sudden turn of events.

                “I… I’m not exactly sure. I think it would be friendship or something, but it feels…very different. Much more powerful. It’s a strange feeling I’ve never felt before.” Sherlock said quietly.

                “Well, who is it directed towards?” John asked.

                “You, mostly.” Oh, John thought. So I guess he is gay after all. This isn’t going to end well, because I’m definitely not. But then he thought of the endless string of text messages with girlfriend after girlfriend. And how all he felt was dread before he read them and disappointment after. “And I’m not… ummh…” Sherlock was having trouble speaking, his words slurring together.

                “Are you okay?” John had seen so many cases of hypothermia in his years of being a doctor, and he knew that when they started acting like this, they needed help, and fast. He would need to get to a hospital, or it could get worse, or even… John stopped that thought before he could consider the possibility. Sherlock’s eyes had closed; he hadn’t answered John’s question. He shook him awake, saying “Sherlock. You need to stay awake. You’re going to the hospital as soon as possible, meanwhile just stay warm."

                “How am I supposed to stay warm… when the heater’s broken and it’s the middle of winter…” Sherlock said so quietly John barely caught the words. Then John heard Mrs Hudson’s voice drifting up the stairs.

                “I don’t think you’ll be able to drive anywhere, look out your window.” John sat up and looked out. The snow was falling thicker, slashing against the windowpane, and John could barely see the street below. He tried to stop the panic that shot through him from showing on his face; he knew it would only worry Sherlock more. Could this have happened at a worse time? Sherlock’s skin had taken on a bluish tint all over and his breathing slowed. John tried to shake him again, but this time there was no response.

                “Okay. We’ll just find another way for you to keep warm. You’ll be fine, you just have to stay awake.” As he finished the sentence he looked down at his friend and, despite his training, felt a stab of panic in his chest. Sherlock’s lips were blue, and when John felt his hand it was like ice. “Sherlock! Please stay awake. Just for a little bit.” But he couldn’t hear him. Mrs Hudson appeared in the doorway.

                “Is he all right? He doesn’t look too good…” she asked.

                “He’s getting worse.” said John, a worried expression on his face. “We really need to get him to a hospital, but if that’s not an option—”

                “John, I’m not sure if he’s breathing. Come over here.” John rushed to the bed and put a hand under Sherlock’s nose, then to his neck. “ _His heart’s stopped_. I… need to give him CPR right away. Can you help me move him off the bed?" Together, they lifted him to the floor. 

                For some reason, even though John had this so many times in emergencies on the battlefield, his cheeks turned slightly red as he knelt on the floor and bent down over Sherlock.

 _Compressions first. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty. Nothing. Thirty compressions again. And again._ After the fourth time,John felt the flutter of a heartbeat against his hands and gasped with relief. Sherlock’s breaths came slowly and uneven, but they were there. John anxiously sat back and looked at Sherlock. After a minute, his eyes opened.

                “John? I’m so…tired… I just want to sleep... my chest hurts,” He mumbled.

                "No. Sherlock, you  _can't_ fall asleep." John said urgently. Mrs Hudson walked over to them, looking worried.

                “Sherlock dear, are you all right now? Do you want some more tea?”

                “Here, you should sit up. Tea will help you.” John helped him up into a sitting position.

                “All right, well here it is,” she said, holding out the mug. “How are you feeling, Sherlock?” He was able to hold the mug in his hands and lift it to his mouth, although his reflexes were slow. He began to shiver again, which was a good sign, because before his body was too cold so that even though he was freezing he wasn’t shivering.

                “Cold. But I’m a bit better now after the tea, and John helping me stay warm.” He squeezed John’s hand, which he was now holding onto like a lifeline. His skin was returning to a normal color, and john felt the grip on his hand steady and slowly grow warmer.

                “You don’t think he needs to go to the hospital anymore, John?” Mrs Hudson asked.

                “No, he's going to recover soon now,” John said.

                “Why would I need to go to the hospital? I’m fine! And why am I on the floor?” Sherlock was indignant. He tried to stand up, but failed. As soon as he got himself upright, he sank to the floor again. After a minute, he began shivering and pulled himself back onto the bed. “I’ll be fine soon, at least.” Satisfied, Mrs. Hudson left the room. 

                “Take care of him, John, dear,” she called over her shoulder.

                “I will.”


End file.
